Chapter 9: All of The Noise

I followed the boy, step by step.

He held a rifle at eye level as he panned the bedroom. The roof and the wall facing the street had been broken down, giving a full view of the street. There was an en-suite, two sets of cupboards, and a working desk in the corner. He paused over each of these items —inspecting them.

I stepped past, in search of Poppy. The en-suite had no one in it, neither did either of the cupboards, that's when I turned to the working desk and saw Poppy pressed flush against its back. She had angled herself side on. That way, it looked like the desk had been shifted off the wall by mistake. No one would take a second glance at the angle.

"Samson, anything up there?" a man shouted from downstairs.

"Doesn't look like it!" the boy, Samson, said.

He inched into the room, peeking into the en-suite with his back against the wall. As he cleared that part of the bedroom, he let out a long sigh.

"I hate this shit," he said.

I grinned and felt a little sorry for the kid. He reminded me of Anthony, the soul that had been the optimist of our group before he went to fight for Heaven. They tried their best for those around them even at their own expense.

Samson peeked into the cupboard. Poppy looked over the desk and then ducked back down. Samson turned back right after. He didn't notice her. But his senses were on edge. He gripped the gun tighter.

Poppy readied the knife in her hand. Samson stepped toward the desk.

He was going to find her, and after that, there would be killing. I had to help —and soon.

The first thing that came to mind was knocking him down. But the other men would hear. I glanced around the room for a distraction.

"You need me up there?" the man shouted.

A second man chuckled. "Give the kid a break."

It clicked. I needed to get Samson back downstairs. The right distraction would draw him away from Poppy.

I ran to the broken wall. A set of drawers remained below in the lounge area. I knelt to the edge of the wall. Samson stood only footsteps away from Poppy now.

One option remained.

I dropped down, landing next to the drawers. I pulled the top drawer out and flung it at the floor. It smashed into the concrete.

One of the men yelled from near the stairs.

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I ran as fast as I could, away from the house and across the dirt. Once I reached the street, I bent over to catch my breath and watched.

Samson and the men convened at the drawers. Their eyes followed the destruction to the set of footprints leading away in the dirt. One of the men cursed and they ran straight toward me.

They approached, guns raised and gasping for breath. Samson was the only one with armour. The other two were in normal clothes but had rifles that were just as powerful. They ran straight past.

"My father is going to kill us for letting them get away," Samson said, as they ran.

"Tag don't know what he don't know," one of the men said.

They bolted down the street, in the direction they believed the person went. It only took a few seconds until they turned out of sight.

I walked back to the house. We had made it out, and no one had died.

"Poppy!" I called from the first floor.

But the liquid metal swallowed my voice. That spurred me to pull it away from my lips, while I called out again. But still, my voice caught in the metal as if it was a net.

Footsteps sounded down the stairs. Poppy slung the knapsack of guns over her shoulder with a big grin on her face. She reached the bottom step and looked at the cupboard. But it was empty.

Poppy frowned.

"Lexi?" she said.

I pulled at the metal over my face.

"Poppy!" I screamed. No noise came out.

"Talent deactivate!" I said.

The metal didn't change. It clung to my skin. I tried to think it away. But still, there was no response. The words that had drifted away came back to me.

Deal Done!

That's when I remembered the fifth rule. 'If you make deals, make sure it's with the Devil.'

"Lexi?" Poppy said, more urgently this time.

I followed her through the house. She checked every cupboard, behind every drawer, then the outside area.

"Lexi?" she screamed each time, her voice filled with panic.

That's when she noticed the footsteps leading away from the house. Poppy counted each set-out. There were four pairs in total. I knew what was going through her mind. She thought I had run —just like the men.

Poppy stared at the prints. "She couldn't have. They must have . . ."

She flung the knife in the dirt. It slammed into the ground, handle up.

I chased after Poppy into the house. We were so close, but I couldn't talk to her.

"Remove talent," I said. "Deactivate!"

Nothing happened.

Poppy stood in front of the cupboard and covered her face with her hands. I tried to reach out and touch her, but a force repelled me. Poppy slid the doors open and shut as if I'd appear through some kind of magic. She kept opening and slamming shut, harder each time. Eventually, she stopped and stared at the closed door.

I stood, watching in silence.

"Those bastards,"Poppy said, running back to the footsteps in the dirt.

She stopped at the edge of the foundation, fury contorting her features. Poppy curled her fists.

The clothes on her back started to rip. Her thorns stretched out, twisting and turning as they gave birth to two wings with perfect black feathers. The wings curled over the knapsack and outward like long arms.

I shouted at her, but no sound made it past the metal. My heart ached.

"I'm right here," I said. “Look at me.”

But she didn't hear me, she couldn't.

I reached out and wrapped my arms around the little girl. But we were negative magnets trying to touch.

Poppy kept pressing her fists until the nails made cuts in her palms. A dark substance seeped from the cuts, covering her hands in a thin layer of black armour.

"Don't do that," I said.

She snatched the grey knife from the dirt and adjusted the knapsack into a comfortable position. "They want to play with us."

I clawed the armour attached to my flesh.

Poppy flapped her wings out and smiled. "Very well. Let's play."